


23, 25, 20 somethings

by mochimarika



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Budding Love, Character Study, Clubbing, Drinking, F/M, Heavy Petting, I’m trying to figure out how to tag properly, Mild Smut, Miya Atsumu-centric, My First Fanfic, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, implied bokuaka, please bare with me!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochimarika/pseuds/mochimarika
Summary: “Lame.” Typical.“Self-righteous prick,” Okay that one hurt a little, but fine.“Your game is weak.” Atsumu would like to think it wasn’t. It was just that he’d never really had to try. Whereas he focused all his efforts and love on the game of volleyball, he never really put in much effort on the dating game. Casual flings, short term relationships, one night stands - he was no stranger to all of this. He was attractive, successful, and had a steady career that allowed him to afford VIP tables in pretentious places like this. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be into that?You apparently....In which Atsumu has an existential crisis after you reject him at a club.note: editing as i go! Originally just a one shot titled “Alone, Together” but i just love Atsumu sm so here i am with a multi-chap with no end in sight lol 🥰
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Original Character(s), Miya Atsumu/Original Female Character(s), Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	1. Alone, Together

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking on my first fanfic ever! After lurking the HQ fandom since the pandemic began almost a year ago, I've finally decided to contribute my own little piece to this community. 
> 
> I'm very very new at this, so I'd love to hear what you all think. 
> 
> The locations used in the fic are based on real places in Tokyo!
> 
> See notes at the end if you'd like to know where the spots are to help you imagine where you and Atsumu meet and have an adventure. :)

**Thursday, 10:00pm JST**

Tokyo is alight and alive. The autumn sun is steadily dimming against a sea of ultramodern buildings and bright billboards that are beginning to light the city in incandescent neons. Crowds are meandering through the busy capital, with tourists slowly walking and stopping at every turn to take photos and gaze at their seemingly surreal surroundings, friends chatting vividly as they make their way to dinner, and employees ambling towards the crowded subway stations to line up and finally make their way home or just find some respite.

You, somehow, are a combination of all three.

Twenty four hours ago, you landed in Haneda from Charles de Gaulle. Jet lagged and bleary eyed, you stuttered your way through customs in your broken but passable Japanese, lost a suitcase that had most of your professional attire needed for the next day’s back to back meetings with investors, then had to be comforted by your driver as you explained the situation in distress all the way to your hotel in the business district of Minato.

You couldn’t help but feel unsettled and overwhelmed as it was after all, your first trip to Japan for professional matters. All your other times in the country had been spent with family, past lovers or on study abroad trips with best friends, but this time it was just you.

Adult you, in your first big girl work trip, in your dream field of fashion, in your dream city of Tokyo.

-

It has almost been twenty fours since you landed in the capital, and you’ve miraculously survived your first day. Barely. Admittedly you slept in a little too late after downing the entire complimentary bottle of Daiginjo from the hotel by yourself the night before, and this morning you spent over thirty minutes trying to transform your jet lagged mug with a “no make up make up” look only to end up still being asked by the sweet door people if you were heading to a special party. The upside is that the sake made you sleep like a baby, and smartly you paired your unexpectedly dramatic make-up with a killer outfit, resulting in you being recharged and sharp throughout the day, impressing your boss and potential investors alike.

**Friday, 8:30pm JST**

You had just emerged from your hotel to freshen up after a long day of work, now heading to dinner in Shibuya to meet with friends you’ve studied abroad with who were now living in Tokyo. Clad in a slinky Jacquemus silk dress and your favorite stilettos, you stand outside the grand entrance of the Tokyu Plaza, sending your girls a quick text to note that you got there a little earlier than expected, informing them that you’d be waiting at the restaurant’s rooftop bar instead.

The restaurant your friends chose was on the 17th floor of the building, a French fusion restaurant that turns into a nightclub after midnight and promises to have the best rooftop views of the Tokyo skyline. It seemed especially busy tonight, as there was already a line of young men and women eager to wait just to get into the club despite the area not opening hours from now.

Overhearing hushed snippets of conversations around you, it sounded like some celebrities were going to be there tonight. You brush it off, looking forward to having a moment to yourself to sip on an espresso martini, maybe even a few truffle sliders while waiting on your friends to arrive.

Busy thinking about whether you have time to eat one or three of the sliders before dinner, you absentmindedly made your way to the host at the front of the already buzzing line.

Halfway there, you feel a gentle but firm tap on your shoulder.

You turn, only to face a very toned and very broad chest dripping in two thin yellow gold snake chains layered over a printed silk button down, a piece from Gucci’s latest season. _“Impressive.. ”_ you think to yourself as you lift your gaze as slowly and as nonchalantly as you can to see the man’s face, even though your eyes are probably already dilating in anticipation, because if the chest was already impressive and you were already having sinful thoughts about dragging your tongue on his chiseled pecs then moving down, well then...

“Yes?” You reply softly as your eyes roam upwards, starting with his strong jawline, to his warm, sugary brown gaze, up to his soft tousled blonde hair, and back down to his full lips, his canines and pink tongue slightly peeking out, adorned in a confident smirk that both turned you on and pissed you off.

_“Fuck. I’d definitely let you ruin my life..or my pussy.”_ You couldn’t help but immediately think to yourself.

Without introducing himself, he slowly licks his lips, then cooly offers. “You headin’ up to Ce La Vi? My friends and I have a VIP table up there so you won’t have to wait until midnight to be let in. You can skip the line with me.”

“No thanks.”

You curtly decline, irritated and offended that he assumed you needed his help to skip the line, let alone afford to enter the establishment for dinner.

You swerve past him, thinking that he’s another sleazy club promoter. Very attractive yes, but you’d like to think you were past making those types of mistakes at this age. Sexy guy leveraging his social status so that he can two pump chump you then ghost you until he needs pretty girls to fill up his club table? Hard pass.

Atsumu on the other hand, is confused.

That simple line never fails; it’s not aggressive but is still quite direct, and it wasn’t creepy. At least he didn’t think so. If anything, he thought he sounded nonchalant and cool.. Almost like Suna...right? Although he’d never let Suna know that he tries to emulate him when trying to pick up girls. Or that he thinks Suna is “nonchalant and cool.” God forbid he gets roasted on the group chat for yet another reason. Also, isn’t it always a great opportunity to skip the line at some overhyped dining club and get wined and dined by a handsome athlete like him? He’s never really had a problem using that line before, in fact his body count was proof of its success rate, so why did it not work on you? 

You definitely seemed like you would be impressed by status and flash, considering you literally made his head turn because of your confident strides, wafting a luxuriously sexy scent. A melange of rose, vanilla, maybe the homemade marshmallows Samu makes in the winte... And definitely a tinge of the special perfume he was gifted by the Tom Ford team that he only reserves for special occasions. Something with tobacco and oud. Plus, he also definitely remembers shelling out 300,000¥ to buy the same Dior purse you had on for his ex-girlfriend last Christmas.

You saunter ahead of him, completely ignoring the screams and flash that followed. _“Ah..So the celebrity has arrived.”_ You think to yourself. _“They’ll probably be escorted to some special entrance anyway.”_

The doorman checks your name on the tablet and leads you to wait in front of an elevator. As you scroll through your phone, waiting for the elevators to take you up to the restaurant, you see him awkwardly standing behind you, rapidly typing away on his phone, very obviously trying to avoid your gaze.

Unlucky for both of you, you two were the only ones cleared by the front desk to go on the elevator.

The ride up to the 17th floor felt like an eternity, a palpable awkward silence marred by elevator music eerily like the Wii theme song dragged the seconds on.

Atsumu couldn’t wait to get out of the cramped space. He wanted so desperately to rush out and find Bokuto, Hinata, or honestly, he’d even practice his abysmal English with Adriah at this point just to get the hell away from you.

It wasn’t that Atsumu found you repulsive, quite the contrary actually. He found you so goddamned sexy, poised with a distinct self-assured stance that he only knew his former high school volleyball captain to have. You were magnetic, like an invisible force just happened to transfix Atsumu’s attention to you when he saw you standing at the plaza, leading him to follow you to the restaurant, thanking his lucky stars that he was also heading the same way since he most definitely kind of looked creepy staring at a lone woman in the middle of the street like that. The fact that you were immediately repelled by his kind suggestion to skip the line with him boggled him. Feeling claustrophobic in a roomy elevator decorated in mirrors that showed your reflection from all angles, he tries even more desperately to avoid looking at you, so he resorts to giving a play by play to his brother over text, only to get obliterated by Osamu.

“Lame.” Typical.

“Self-righteous prick,” Okay that one hurt a little, but fine.

“Your game is weak.” He’d like to think it wasn’t. It was just that he’d never really had to try. Whereas Atsumu focused all his efforts and love on the game of volleyball, he never really put in much effort on the dating game. Casual flings, short term relationships, one night stands - he was no stranger to all of this. He was attractive, successful, and had a steady career that allowed him to afford VIP tables in pretentious places like this. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be into that?

You apparently.

_“Oh well, your loss.”_ He tries to reason with himself.

As soon as the doors open, Atsumu lets you pass like the gentleman he was raised to be. Okay, maybe he checks you out one last time, because damn that ass... and maybe he also tries to catch a whiff of your intoxicating perfume… but no one had to know that.

He walks away to find his teammates inside the VIP dining area, wanting to just forget about you and move on with his night. You on the other hand, leisurely make your way to the open rooftop bar.

Shortly after, your friends Yuki and Kaori arrive, apologizing for their tardiness and promising a good time as they insist on going out clubbing with some of their friends from high school.

You hadn’t seen the sexy arrogant promoter or his “VIP” group throughout dinner. You forget about him or at least try to, happy to finally munch away on the anticipated dinner, reminisce about your wild college days and catch up with old friends.

**Friday, 11:30pm JST**

A couple of hours later, inhibitions loose from the free flow of alcohol offered at the restaurant mixed in with a bottle of champagne to celebrate your reunion, the three of you egg each other on to take shots at the bar before checking out the now bustling dance floor, surrounded by the VIP booths inside. Not a minute more after walking indoors do you hear a loud energetic voice holler, “YUKIPPE?!”

“Bokuto-san!!!” Yuki excitedly calls out, dragging you and Kaori over to greet a boisterous, incredibly buff man with two toned spiky hair. Behind him sitting on the plush rounded couches is a small group of young men who are all just as attractive and well-dressed, with an orange haired male capturing most of their attention, spinning an animated tale that had the table howling in raucous laughter.

The only one whose attention was away from the tanned male you heard is called Hinata is the promoter from downstairs, looking directly at you in shock.

“ _Oh fuck.”_

Three buttons on his shirt were now unbuttoned, giving you a more intimate view of his chest. The same, broad, muscled chest you fantasized over earlier. His gaze is unrelenting, and you realize you had also been staring back at him when Kaori waves her hands in front of your face, trying to get your attention.

“Giiiiiirl? Hello?”

You revert your attention back to your group, acting as if you definitely weren’t just thinking about jumping on the blonde’s lap then and there, pulling him into a kiss, grinding on him as you unbutton his shirt and pants in a desperate, heated haze and then...

Kaori interrupts your thoughts with, “This is our friend from high school, Bokuto-san! His boyfriend Akaashi-kun will be joining us later.” Bokuto is beaming down at you with a megawatt smile and pulls you in a bear hug as you move to shake his hand.

Yuki introduces you as their friend from university that just moved to help launch a Japanese edition of a niche French fashion magazine. She adds, “Bokuto is the star ace of his volleyball team, and these are some of his teammates from the MSBY Black Jackals.”

At this, Bokuto bellows a “ HEY HEY HEY!” that garners the attention of his teammates and onlookers alike.

His teammates warmly welcome you and the girls to their table, as if you’re all old friends simply catching up. Comfortable, you engage Hinata and Meian in a lively conversation about your common experiences while traveling in Brazil. From your shared love of pao de queijo, debating where the best feijoada can be found in Rio, all the way to sharing the wild scenes you’ve all seen in Ipanema's legendary posto 8, banter flowing easily.

You were having a great time, happy to make new friends.

Atsumu had been stealthily watching you throughout the introductions. You acted as if it was the first time you’ve met him, then gracefully jumped into a discussion with his captain and newest teammate as if you were all best friends, when in fact for the last two weeks since Shoyo had joined the team, he’d nervously run to the bathroom every time Meian tried to talk to him for longer than five minutes. Now here he was, laughing with you and the captain about your shared culture shock in realizing how comfortable Brazilians were with skinship. 

Atsumu met you less than three hours ago, but every little detail he picks up about you fascinates him more and more. There wasn’t a single thing about you that he didn’t like so far, leaving him intrigued, pining to get to know more. Except for one little big thing.. you flat out rejected him earlier, so now he’s actively avoiding you out of respect for the boundaries you set initially.

Still, he was riveted. He wanted to get to know you one way or another, even if it was trying to casually listen in on your conversations with his teammates.

“What a creep.” Sakusa interrupts his thoughts, rolling his eyes at Atsumu.

Bokuto leans in and attempts to whisper in a hushed tone, _in an octave that was definitely too loud to be a whisper_ , “She’s super cute Tsumtsum! Go for it!”

“Just talk to her, you’ve been staring at her the entire time. It’s starting to get weird.” Sakusa adds.

For arguably the first time in his adult life, Atsumu is insecure.

How does he approach you for the second time? He doesn’t even know what to talk to you about. Here you were, casually conversing about your world travels when he’d never even left Japan except for international matches. You, decked out in designer items he’d gifted different ex-girlfriends as apologies or appeasements for every time he prioritized volleyball over them. You, who were already chummy with his teammates even though it took him months to warm up to them. For fuck’s sake, sometimes his jokes still fall flat, but here you were cracking jokes and making even Omi chuckle. Who the hell were you? And how can Atsumu get to know you? Does he want to be like you or be inside you? How does he even get your attention without seeming like a desperate jerk? Why the fuck does he care what some random girl thinks of him?

He never really cared about what others thought of him outside of volleyball, but when he can’t rely on his one true love to speak for him, who is he and what does he have to offer?

Having an existential crisis at an ostentatious club at midnight was definitely not something Atsumu wanted to do. Yet here he was, feeling as dejected as the day he wore the Jackasuke costume and slipped in public for the whole world to see.

Swirling the melting ball of ice on his crystal glass filled with Yamazaki 18, he didn't notice that you had moved closer to him.

“They say whiskey is a depressant. Is that why you look so sad?” You joke, then gesture to his drink with a small smile.

Atsumu lifts his head to look at you, then freezes upon realizing your close proximity. He counters, “Really? What should I have for a good time then?”

“Me.” You cheekily reply and wink at him.

He grins at you, confidence steadily regaining at realizing that he might have a chance with you after all.

**Saturday, 12:00am JST**

Pouring a newly opened bottle of Ace of Spades on two champagne flutes laid out on the table, you make amends.

“Sorry for being so rude earlier. I get really defensive when I’m randomly approached by men, especially because I thought you were a promoter looking to get girls to join your table… I didn’t know I had mutual friends with some hotshot athlete.” You smile awkwardly.

He laughs and jokes back, but there is definitely some weight to his sentiment.

“Ah, but since Imma hotshot athlete s’all good now right?”

You replace the whiskey glass in his hands with a champagne flute and shoot back. “Nah, I really thought you were trying to pimp me out to your flashy friends who bought tables from you, or worse, that you were just trying to get a quick fuck.”

Atsumu chokes on his own spit at your frank reply, and you giggle before lowering your voice so only he could hear.

You counter, “For the record, I would have been down for the latter, except you didn’t even introduce yourself. You should also know that I don’t ever need your help to get places.”

You smile innocently at him as if you didn’t just confirm that you were down to fuck if only he had played his cards right. His mind fogs, instantly imagining dragging you to the nearest bathroom to fuck you silly. He thinks about what it would feel like to sloppily kiss your full lips, moving his hands from your hair down to your neck and shoulders, feeling the curves of your body graciously skimming the silk fabric of your dress, only to unwrap you like a prized gift and worship you with his tongue.

You clear your throat, well aware that Atsumu’s most likely imagining fucking you given his glazed over eyes and parted lips.

With a blush, he tries to cover his reddening cheeks and neck by downing his drink. He bounces back with a, “Well then. The name’s Atsumu, 23 years old, professional volleyball player - the best damned setter the MSBY Black Jackals and the Japanese National Team has seen.”

Atsumu realizes then that he never really had to introduce himself. Not seriously anyway. Most people around him already knew who he was; his teammates, coaches, players within the league, aspiring volleyball players, fans of the game, fans of his.. even people around him who didn’t have interest in volleyball just generally knew of his reputation as one of Japan’s most talented athletes and eligible bachelors. 

How does he tell you about himself without pulling out his phone to show you his current stats or videos of his top sets as proof that he really is as good as he says? Without looking like an ass? Even worse, what does he tell you about himself without volleyball being the main subject?

You smile, intrigued at how he suddenly seemed so sure of himself while talking about volleyball, emitting pride and passion as he describes his profession.

So you continue to ask him about the sport. Atsumu visibly relaxes, his love for the game evident as he discusses their most recent friendly match, the reason why their Osaka based team is in the capital just before some of them start training for the Olympics. The other boys jump in and out of the conversation, with Yuki and Kaori clarifying certain terms to you when they see you furrow your brows in confusion.

As the alcohol keeps flowing and the conversation moves to the upcoming Olympics, you and Atsumu have veered off the multiple group conversations and are transfixed on each other.

He asks you what you’re doing in Tokyo and how you ended up there, so you tell him you graduated from university recently, originally intending to become a Doctor but decided to pause and move to Paris upon graduation, wherein between random side hustles you somehow landed a job in editorial fashion. Thus landing you in Tokyo on an extended work trip.

Atsumu is bewildered at how you could switch careers so easily and still succeed, that you have multiple passions and follow them accordingly to your whims. 

He couldn’t imagine living a life like yours, volleyball being the only thing he’s actively pursued since realizing he had to make a living somehow. He wonders whether he chose volleyball as a career because it was the only thing he was good at and the only thing he could think of when his high school teacher asked him about his options for the future.

Deep down he knows that he loves the sport more than anything else, the driving force and principle behind his very essence. Still he can’t help but wonder, what if he chose do something else? What if he found a different passion to pursue? Would he have made a good doctor? Lawyer? Entrepreneur and chef like Samu? He shudders, lost for answers. He settles his raging thoughts by simply asking, “How could you switch careers so easily?”

You pause to think for a while, then casually respond.

“People are multi-faceted. I think there’s different versions to us as we navigate life. We fall in and out of love with different people, hobbies, places, food, aesthetics... There are just so many variables, so many moving parts as we get older.. Who’s to decide that we have to be tied to the same job or pursue the same passion for the rest of our lives?”

This confuses him even more, and he decides that despite you having the same self-assured aura that Kita-san has, you’re the complete opposite of him, different from everyone around him actually. Him, his brother, his friends, his exes, all of whom either have a clear direction or some semblance of goals and dreams for the future.

You on the other hand, are all risk. You boldly trek into the unknown, unafraid and ready to face the variables and twist them so that they fall to your favor. Atsumu supposes that in this way, he relates to you.

He replies, “Huh. Weird but I guess I kinda get it. It’s like when I’m on court observing opponents. I have to sniff out and adapt to whatever bullshit they’re on, tweak our plays and my settin’ style to make sure we crush them. Sorta like a gamble.”

“Exactly.” You confirm.

“Eh..but nothing feels better than winnin’. How do you even know if you’re winning when you don’t have set objectives?” Atsumu counters.

You playfully roll your eyes at him.

“I do! My objectives are just adjusted to my current surroundings. I’d say pondering over the inherent philosophical value of career choices in a rooftop bar in Tokyo with a sexy volleyball setter is winning.”

“Touché.”

He grins, aiming to pour more champagne to your flutes before realizing that you two polished off the bottle of Ace on the table and that your friends were all in various states of inebriation.

Yuki dancing with her boyfriend, Kaori grinding on Adriah, Bokuto and Hinata on the dance floor twerking on the older MSBY members to Reggaeton, Sakusa and Akaashi watching all of this in amused horror.

“Wanna dance?” Atsumu asks.

After topping your glasses with overpriced bottle service liquor, you move towards the dance floor at the center of the club, joining your friends.

You’re shocked at how well Atsumu can dance, easily gripping your hips and moving with you as you gyrate against him to 90s hip hop jams. Hinata finds you both and proceeds to dance on you, laughing as you twirl him and sandwich him between you and Atsumu.

After a couple more songs, you, Bokuto, and the girls end up dancing on top of a random table screaming the lyrics to the newest Megan Thee Stallion song.

Yuki somehow proceeds to wrangle you all back to your table to take shot after shot, fueling the night to go on.

**Saturday, 3:00am JST**

Your group stumbles out of the rooftop bar, with the married MSBY members calling it a night. Bokuto on the other hand, is already ordering an Uber Lux to take you all from Shibuya to an even more upscale club in Minato, on the other end of Tokyo for a good nightcap.

Atsumu holds your hand as you enter the club, the most he’s gotten to touch you since dancing with you earlier.

Your group downs more bottles of champagne and vodka, all dancing on each other at your table.

Emboldened by the alcohol in your system, you pop your ass a little more against Atsumu’s crotch, swaying more seductively to a random top forty hit. Feeling him hardening against his fitted trousers, you turn to face him, skimming your fingers on his chains and chest as you continue to dance. In turn he runs his hands up and down your sides, moving more liberally to each drop of the beat, grazing up the underside of your breasts and back down to cup the curve of your ass. His hands feel warm on your body, steadily stoking a growing fire in you.

You gaze up at Atsumu, tilting your head to lightly graze your lips against his neck, trailing upwards towards his ear, effectively sending shivers down his spine. You whisper, “Would you consider this winning, hotshot?” licking the shell of his ear, resulting in Atsumu groaning lowly as you move your head to look back at him.

With hazy eyes, Atsumu looks at you, then whispers, “Winning would be when I’ve made you come with my mouth so many times you’re begging me to fuck you.. but until then babygirl, this is pretty close.”

You pussy throbs as his lips brush against your skin with every whisper, but before you can even respond, Atsumu kisses you.

His soft lips press on yours, capturing your lower lip in a soft bite that elicits pleasure that starts in your belly then moves down south. His hands continue to move up and down your sides, now more possessive in grabbing your ass to bring you closer to him.

You teasingly lick his parted lips, prompting Atsumu to dance his tongue against yours.

Lost in open mouthed kisses that have you both desperately groping each other’s clothed bodies on the dance floor, you feel Atsumu brush his knuckle over your breasts, motions languid and repeating as your nipples arouse and become visible through your silk dress.

Your entire body is overheating. You moan against his mouth.

He whispers, “Wanna take this somewhere more private?” You nod immediately, then rush to tell your friends you’d catch up with them over brunch tomorrow.

Atsumu is waiting by the exit, but as soon as he sees you, he is so turned on he can’t help but sear you into another heated kiss, leaving you both weak and wanting.

**Saturday, 4:30am JST**

Miraculously, the nearest Uber is 25 minutes away and the cabs are far and few. Atsumu starts to dial a private car service, but then notices you wandering down the street.

“Oi!! Where you goin’?” He calls out.

You pout. “I’m hungry.”

Atsumu offers to order you room service at his hotel but you decline, taking his calloused but surprisingly moisturized hand as you skip down a tiny alley way towards a conbini.

Inside, you fill your basket to the brim with an assortment of junk food. Chips, instant ramen, sandwiches, daifuku mochi, fried chicken poppers, and every other snack you find with cute packaging before finally leading you to the end of an aisle, choosing between which types of onigiri to purchase.

Atsumu goes along with you, advising you which brands to get, which to avoid, even putting his favorites in the basket. Although he knows his trainer will punish him with brutal training sessions if he sees the shit he’s about to put on his body, he thinks it’s all worth it. He knows he’ll feel guilty come morning, spending hours at the gym to burn it all off, but right now he couldn’t care less. Not after seeing you starry eyed at how many options of onigiri there are, and how absolutely adorable you look when asking him about which snacks he thinks could fit in your purse to save for later.

Trying to impress you, Atsumu comments. “Y’know, I make a mean tuna onigiri.”

No he doesn’t. His brother does, but you don’t know that. Not yet at least.

“Oh yeah? Want to make me some one of these days?” You respond.

_Securing a date with you before the night even ends? Hell yeah._

Atsumu thanks his lucky stars, confidently confirming. “Sure, how does tomorrow evening sound?”

“Baby, our night hasn’t even ended and you’re booking me for tomorrow already. Are you trying to cuff me?”

_“Yes. Then wife you.”_ But Atsumu holds his tongue.

Instead he winks at you, responding with a casual “Only if you want me to” with a wide, cheeky, canine bearing smile.

Laughing, you roll your eyes at him as he swoops in to carry your basket and insists on paying for your drunken munchies haul.

**Saturday, 5:15am JST**

Somehow you and Atsumu end up sitting on a park bench, sharing the food he bought from the conbini. Like two excitable school children on a field trip, you trade half bitten snacks with each other while talking about everything and nothing in between.

He tells you about his twin brother Osamu, who he insists is _definitely_ uglier and the bummy version of him; how they did everything together up until Samu decided to open up his own restaurant and stay in their hometown of Hyogo instead of playing professional volleyball like him. 

Atsumu tells you all about their childhood, from catching bugs to keep as pets and sneaking them to their room only to hear their ma screaming about it in the middle of the night, to how he always took from Samu’s secret snack stash, always denied doing so when confronted, but always paid him back with interest by secretly dropping a chunk of his monthly allowance on Samu’s piggy bank. The same one that Samu would later break open to help fund the opening of his restaurant. All the petty fights that turned into brawls, only to act like nothing happened despite being covered in scratches as soon as their tired mom walked through the door after a long day of work. He talks about his twin in such an easygoing manner, love overflowing in his voice and reminiscent of when he was speaking about volleyball, but this time there’s a twinge of wistfulness and melancholy to his tone.

“You miss him.” You softly conclude.

“That idiot? Nah.”

“It’s okay. I won’t hold it against you for blackmail.” You tease.

Atsumu concedes. “Okay maybe a little.”

Loose lipped from the alcohol still flowing in his veins, he continues.

“Samu and I have always been together. Starting at the womb for fuck’s sake, fightin’ each other over stupid shit, getting our asses kicked by our ma, sharin’ a room, spewing random thoughts to each other only the two of us would understand, attending the same school, on the same volleyball teams, with the same friends, or rather him havin’ friends that ended up adoptin’ me to their group.”

He chuckles. “I think I took it all for granted, havin’ someone there always with me.. Even if he always got on my ass for the littlest things and it used to always piss me off. Deep down I knew he was always just lookin’ out for me, just didn’t know how ta’ show it. I mean, I didn’t either.”

He laughs because he knows he still doesn’t know how. “It’s almost been four years since I moved away from home and...”

He doesn’t finish the sentiment, but he doesn’t have to.

Atsumu is alone, and although he loves to brag to Osamu and their friends about the freedom having his own space brings, he knows he’s also so fucking lonely.

You finish his thought for him by empathizing. “I get it. I mean, kind of. I don’t have a twin so I can only imagine, but I’ve been living on my own for quite some time now, in between countries with parents who don’t support my career change and friends always in different places than where I am. It’s isolating. But hey, that’s why we put ourselves out there right? Why you acted like a sleazy promoter in front of the club and why I acted like a stone cold bitch earlier only to come at you? Our lame attempts at easing loneliness in hopes that one day, someone might finally understand... or just be there to try.”

You chuckle half-heartedly, nudging his shoulders to try and ease the somber tension.

He turns to look at you, smiling up at him, listening and just trying to understand him. He can’t help himself. He pulls you into a sweet kiss that tastes of strawberry daifuku and expensive champagne.

Atsumu knows that you’ll never understand what it’s like to have a twin, to live a life away from them, to suddenly pursue a passion you thought was shared but then have to do it all on your own.. He thinks it’s amazing that you’re even listening to him rant about his nostalgia, even when he knows his thoughts seem incoherent, even when he currently doesn’t even know how to define himself.

In a dimly lit park in Azabu, you and Atsumu find solace in each other’s solitude.

He doesn’t know how he managed to basically word vomit to a stranger issues he finds too embarrassing to even mention to his brother, yet here he was. He doesn’t even know why barely two hours ago you were feeling each other up at a club, about to go back to his hotel room and drunkenly fuck, but now here you were at a park in the middle of a ritzy neighborhood in Tokyo, sharing snacks, stories and innocent kisses.

Talking to you, kissing you, hell even drunkenly shopping for junk food with you felt like second nature to him, as if you had been with him all along and this was just part of you two’s routine. Atsumu doesn’t know why though, since you couldn’t be more different from him.

You, who finds sparks of interest then bravely torches it aflame, letting it change your life as you go along. Then there’s him, lucky to have found his passion early on, pursuing it steadfastly since then, letting it consume and define him.

Perhaps it was the fact that you found each other incredibly attractive and you both were just looking for some sort of release, sexual or not. 

Or honestly, maybe it’s the shared loneliness of being newly minted adults, trying to navigate life on your own without the familiar crutches only youth affords.

Whatever it is, Atsumu finds himself even more drawn to you.

“ _Being alone, if it’s together with you, isn’t so bad after all,”_ he thinks.

He watches you as you look up to observe the night sky rapidly fading to make room for the soft pastels of dawn, a soft smile painting your pretty lips. He doesn’t realize he mirrors your smile as soon as he sees it. 

At 23, Atsumu doesn’t know the answers to a lot of things. He knows now that you don’t either, but he definitely knows then that he wants you to be there with him as you both figure it all out.

**Saturday, 3:45pm JST**

“I need a favor Samu. I need to make dinner to pair with onigiri. Oh wait, actually I also need to make onigiri. Tuna scallion.”

“You? Cookin? What?”

“It’s for this girl...”

“A girl agreed to let you cook for her? Is she sane? Conscious? Did you force her?”

“Fuck off!”

“Bet.”

Osamu hangs up.

Atsumu panics and calls him back immediately.

“Fuck I’m sorry!! I’m sorry!! I… mighthavetoldherIcookwelltoimpressher.”

“Ah so you’re posin’ as me. I knew I was the superior twin.”

“You wish!! But please... I really like her. It’s the girl from yesterday.”

In all 23 years of being Atsumu’s brother, Osamu had never heard of Atsumu wanting to impress a girl by actually doing something for her. Buying them all the shit they could want, taking them out to eat wherever they want, sure. But actively taking time out of his day, time that could’ve been spent training, to do something for someone else, not even sure if the end result might pay off?

This was new.

Knowing Tsumu’s lack of patience and short attention span, the food will be barely edible. He knows Tsumu expects this to happen already; so he’s intrigued that his brother really insists on trying.

He’s always known Atsumu to be a gambler on court. Off court, he takes the safe routes. So for him to suddenly take a gamble like this, you must have been pretty damn special.

“Alright, scrub. I’ll send you the ingredients list. Facetime me when you’re back in the kitchen.”

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Locations used for the fic:
> 
> 1\. Rooftop bar/restaurant - Ce la Vi, Shibuya  
> Said  
> 2\. 3am club - 1Oak, Minato
> 
> 3\. Conbini - Lawson's (any one of them in Azabu)
> 
> 4\. Park - Mamiana Park, Azabu
> 
> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcomed, please be nice. Find me on my new Tumblr if you'd like to let me know what you think there! @badb1tchbokuto


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but I just love Atsumu sm and want to study his character so badly... so hey! A mini series I go 🤯
> 
> wc: 3.7k

Atsumu tried. He really, really did. 

Standing on the tiny kitchenette of his shared hotel suite with Bokkun(who was off spending time with Akaashi), he hangs up the phone after a long Facetime session with Samu guiding him on how to make the best onigiri and miso soup.

It really shouldn’t have taken that long. All he had to do was wash the rice, pop it into the mini rice cooker stowed in the counter, cut some fresh tuna, sear the rest, then assemble it all into balls along with the seasoning, condiments and nori. 

He’d know how to make miso soup even if he was blindfolded. All he had to do was mix in the ingredients he bought on a small pot of water. Dashi, miso paste, diced silken tofu, sliced green onions, some more nori, all dropped in at different times and simmered to get the perfect taste. Plus, this was one of the first dishes their ma taught them how to make before he and Samu moved away.

Really, it should have been a breeze. He’d made onigiris for himself countless of times before, admittedly nowhere near as tasty as the ones Osamu makes, but they were still edible. 

This time, however, it had to delicious. Mouthwatering, _perfect_.

For the umpteenth time, Atsumu is picking off the nori on the last rice ball, wrapping and rewrapping, then wrapping again because the nori just wasn’t hugging the rice in a fashion uniform to the seven others arranged in front of him.

_“Why does it look so weird??”_ He frustrates.

Atsumu’s mind replays, yet again, to your shared conversation at the club. Specifically to the part where he realizes he didn’t really know how to talk about himself outside of volleyball. He surmises at this; a gnawing, alarming thought of wondering whether he really knew himself at all.

_ Three hours  ago... _

_“How do I usually describe myself?”_ He repeatedly thinks as he wanders down the seemingly endless aisles of Isetan’s Depa-Chika, scouring for the exact brands of ingredients Samu instructed him to buy. 

Lost somewhere in the frozen food section, Atsumu pushes a half filled cart in reverie. He resolves then and there to get to know himself, whatever that means or entails. Not just so he can talk to you or anyone new for that matter, but honestly more so to know how to articulate to himself who he really is in private. Without the cameras flashing, without the people buzzing, without having to watch himself through others’ incredibly varied perceptions of him, without using his brother or his friends and teammates as a crutch, however difficult or impossible that seems.

He takes his time at the store, tediously combing the shelves for a special kind of mirin Osamu swears by, then proceeds to have an internal debate whether he should choose chutoro or otoro _(he chooses otoro, the fattiest and therefore the tastiest in his opinion)_ , his supposedly quick trip to the grocery store devouring more than an hour of his time. 

It is now 7:15pm. 

You’re supposed to arrive in fifteen minutes, but Atsumu still hadn’t even showered, hadn’t even cleaned up the kitchen, hadn’t even finished wrapping that last stubborn rice ball.

The hotel phone rings and Atsumu panics. 

It’s the concierge alerting him of your arrival. Sending you up, Atsumu races around the small space in a haste, swiping the counter and dining table with disinfectant, racing to throw empty packages into the bin. 

The doorbell rings and Atsumu is sweating.

He’s an athlete for fuck’s sake, why did running around for less than a minute knock his breath out like that?

“I’m coming!” He yells, or tries to. What comes out is a cracked, high pitched attempt, sounding much like a prepubescent boy going through rapid hormonal changes. He cringes, mortified.

Atsumu hears you trying to stifle a giggle. 

He clears his throat, repeats in his signature silky voice, then runs to open the door. 

You’re smiling sheepishly, the tip of your nose pink from the autumn chill, all bundled up in a casual outfit that somehow knocks Atsumu’s breath out.

“My share of dinner!” You announce, arms stretched out with a box of wagashi and a bottle of nigori sake.

“Yer’ so frickin cute,” he dotes. He can’t help himself, he snakes an arm on your waist and pulls you in for a gentle kiss. 

“Yer’ early, missed me that much already?” He whispers teasingly on your lips.

You laugh as you kiss him back, gently patting his cheek as a response before pulling away.  _ Funny how it seems like he’s the one who missed you that much... _

Atsumu sneakily sniffs his shirt as you take off your shoes at the genkan.

_“Oh no...”_ Not musty, but he reeks of kitchen smoke, aburi tuna and dried sweat. 

“Need ta’ shower real quick.”

“Oh sorry, want me to come back in a bit?” 

He digresses. “No no. Gimme a minute, come in and get comfy.” 

He excuses himself, leaving you in the kitchen as he rushes to the bathroom. 

You look around the hotel suite, kitchenette roughly cleaned, flecks of nori and furikake smattering the floor but otherwise spotless. The cramped countertop had a steaming pot laid next to a row of neatly arranged onigiri on two plates, decorated with vegetables jaggedly cut in what you assume are attempts at flower patterns.

It’s a simple dinner, you know. But you still can’t help but be impressed that Atsumu put in that much effort, that much care in making you a homemade dinner. On your first date no less.

You smile, butterflies fluttering in your belly at the thought that this callous, reckless, stupidly tall and handsome man is being domestic just for you.  
  


Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Kaori and Yukie, gushing over how cute Atsumu is and even sending them a quick snapshot of the onigiri he plated with special care. “Get it!!!” Kaori enthusiastically replies. “Send a ‘1’ by midnight if it’s good and give us a play by play tomorrow. ‘2’ if we need to fake an emergency asap!” Yukie responds, ever the more calculating but motherly one.

As Atsumu massages purple shampoo on his tresses, he elucidates a fact about him he already knows is true on court that he supposes could be said the same of him off it.

  1. **Miya Atsumu is a perfectionist.**



He practices for hours daily to hone his craft, has been doing so since the fourth grade really. At first just to spite Samu, but then he just suddenly fell in love with volleyball.  
  


To Atsumu, nothing short of absolute perfection qualifies when it comes to dedicating himself to the things he cares about. It is through this philosophy that he is now one of Asia’s top setters, that he’s certain anyone who can’t receive his set is a scrub; a roaring confidence gained from knowing he puts his all to whatever he chooses to set his mind to, whether that’s volleyball or cooking dinner for a very cute girl he finds himself wanting to impress and spend more time with.

He frowns upon remembering that one of the onigiris he made is lopsided, that he didn’t even have time to shower and properly clean up before you arrived, that the atmosphere you walked in on your first official date with Miya Atsumu the perfectionist, wasn’t, well...perfect.

He thinks about this as he readies himself, spraying on the woodsy, smoky vanilla perfume he swore you wore when you first met. He usually reserves the scent for special occasions, but he believes that this counts as one.

Atsumu finds you in the kitchen, fixated on trying to salvage the onigiri he was having trouble wrapping earlier. 

He leans over your shoulder, and though your nerves are in haywire and the butterflies in your stomach seem to keep multiplying, you instinctually lean back into him. Atsumu smiles as he drapes his arms around you from behind, thumbs brushing up and down the bare sliver of skin on your hip. 

Your mind is a blur, every thought suddenly jumbled and incoherent. All that’s left is you anticipating, _thrilling_ where Atsumu will move his fingers next on your heating body. Dropping his head on your shoulder and finally getting a closer whiff of your sexy scent, he whispers teasingly close to your ear.

“Sorry for the wait, ya’ ready to fall in love with me?” 

You swiftly turn around and pull him into a deep kiss as an answer. 

——

By the time you’ve moved to sit at small table by the kitchen, your lips are sweetly swollen and your clothes are wrinkled. Atsumu is panting, hair even more tousled and a small love bite is beginning to bloom on his right collarbone. 

You stare at him, mesmerized at how he seems to look even more gorgeous unkempt. 

“Why don’t cha take a picture babe, it’ll last longer.” He smirks then sticks his tongue out to pose, ego inflating at catching you ogling him.

You quip. “Sure, can I take naked ones after?” 

“Aww, you’re so polite. Whatta’ good girl. You don’t need to ask. I’ll gladly give them to you for free, even throw in a lil show if ya want.” He leans closer, resting his head on his flexed, chiseled propped arm, smirking a little more mischievously as he gazes at you in challenge.

You can almost see his ego rapidly inflating like a balloon, and naturally, you kind of want to pop it.

In your best faux posh British accent, you offer. “A most forthcoming and lucrative offer mister Miya. What do you say I start and manage an OnlyFans account for you?”

You giggle uncontrollably as the look on his face changes instantly from confidence to confusion.

Brows furrowed and lips formed into a tiny pout, he concludes. “It’s a good thing yer so cute, yer a weirdo.”

You laugh, snorting a little. Atsumu chuckles at this, finding your little quirk amusing and rather irresistible.

“Keep the accent though, it’s kinda hot.” You kick him under the table and continue to banter as you both set up the table.   
  


Atsumu watches expectantly as you take the first sip of the miso broth. The soup is delicious, and as soon as you tell him this he visibly relaxes. 

The onigiris’ fillings however, are inconsistent. On the first one, the filling oozes out whenever you take a bite. On another, there’s barely any tuna and a ton of furikake. You decide to spare him your criticisms and just enjoy the meal he so graciously prepared.

Still, your heart just feels so damn full.

You make sure to repeatedly compliment Atsumu on his cooking to show appreciation for his efforts, the first time anyone has ever cooked for you on a date and the first time he( _and not his pro-chef brother! Ha!_ ) has ever been acknowledged for his culinary efforts. 

Dinner is pleasant, both of you exchanging stories of varied life experiences.

You talk about the places you’ve lived in, your childhood, life in university. Atsumu actively listens, enchanted with how different your upbringing was in comparison to his, especially since he’d forgone college and went pro immediately after being scouted in high school. Despite the stark differences, he asks a ton of questions; some in confusion as he asks you to clarify or talk about certain details you purposely leave out.

You notice that he’s very observant, so you casually comment it.

Atsumu decides then that yes, it’s true. He makes a mental note to add this to the little list he’s crafting in his head about who he is.

** 2\. Miya Atsumu is observant. **

He thinks that you literally could have told him he was a seaweed and he would have agreed just because he is so transfixed by your mere presence and voice, but he knows this to be true on court for him as well. How else would he sync up with his spikers? How else would he know which serve to use and how to to angle his sets best? Through thorough studying and keen awareness of his teammates’ likes, dislikes, mannerisms and ticks, he is able to turn aseemingly mismatched chaotic group like the Black Jackals into synchronized raging monsters, dancing to a tune in which he is the lone orchestrator.

Atsumu is earnest in asking you questions about your life; his genuine interest coaxing you to share seemingly inconsequential details you intentionally initially skip over, snippets of your upbringing  you thought were too boring to even mention, some too painful to share. Hesitantly at first, then comfortably as Atsumu intently listens. You don’t know why he takes a keen interest in you to that degree, but you come to learn that Atsumu is transparent and rather straightforward. He asks because he wants to know. You relax, feeling touched and appreciated as you realize that he seems to just want to know every little thing about you, even the parts of you that you think are boring, unimportant or unworthy. 

The conversation shifts to more light hearted topics as you both begin to indulge on the dessert and sake you brought.

Feeding you half of a red bean wagashi he swears is the best one, Atsumu continues to tell you about shenanigans from his volleyball team, particularly the initiation ritual of being ambushed to sing a full song at one’s first team dinner with a hot pink wireless karaoke mic on full blast. 

“Bokkun, Omi, and Shoyou weren’t even there yet and I didn’t know anyone my age since they were all older than me.. I was only eighteen! They told me I couldn’t eat dinner and had to sit in a different table if I didn’t do it.. and I had 10 seconds to pick a song! A western one at that because Adriah and Oliver had to understand too and they didn’t speak Japanese then..”

Imagining a younger Atsumu with a bad dye job nervously trying to think of a song to sing out loud in public, you laugh as he describes in detail how awkward the whole ordeal was. You wonder if any of the older members have a video of this, making sure to ask Meian if you ever have the opportunity to see the team again.

He recounts how shameless Bokuto and Hinata were when they had to do it, with Bokuto even doing an encore with a dance routine that resulted in them being banned from a restaurant in Kyoto. You’re both dying of laughter as he wheezes out how Sakusa almost gave up his career upon realizing he had to do it as well. Thankfully his team sort of pitied him and let him sing to a small izakaya in Sendai instead of the mega hotel restaurants they usually celebrate in. 

As the night progresses, you and Atsumu end up sitting side by side, legs touching due to the close proximity of your chairs, holding hands, and sharing sweet sake flavored kisses in between laughs.

After some time, the kisses start to linger, becoming more heated. It’s when you subtly lick Atsumu’s tongue then slowly bite and suck on his full lower lip that he loses control and pulls you into his lap . Straddling him, you keep one hand on his chest to steady yourself as you move one hand to brush his soft hair out of his face. “You’re so beautiful.” You whisper as you stare into his half lidded hazel eyes before leaning in to kiss him.

Atsumu flushes at this. It’s the first time he’s been called beautiful. Handsome? Sure. Sexy? Even more often. But beautiful? It feels intimate, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in a way that seems to transcend the physical. He revels in this as he lavishes you with open mouthed kisses, starting from just below your ear and moving down your neck, his wet lips ghosting over the hollow of your throat to just above your cleavage. You mewl, aching to feel more of him, subconsciously grinding your hips on his lap where you can feel him bulging out of his sweatpants. 

Atsumu moves one of his hands from your waist, brushing his large knuckles up your torso until it reaches the underside of your breasts. You notice that despite his kisses growing more desperate and him feeling fully erect under you, he hasn’t made a move to further the heavy petting. Respecting his boundaries, you ask. “Everything okay? We don’t have to go all the way if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Oh fuck.. sorry, yea, I’m good.”  He kisses your lips again as his hands rub up and down your bare sides, your sweater having ridden up a while ago. “Trust me, I want you. So bad. I’m just tryin' to hold myself back for once.” 

“Huh? Why?”

“I wanted to take my time.” He gently pecks your forehead, then your nose, and then back to your lips. He does this while looking at you eye to eye, stark contrast to the steamy make out session you were just having. Atsumu’s gaze becomes smoldering as his eyes move to your lips again. “I don’t know why, but I just know I’ll get addicted to ya’.”

You grab the wrist that’s placed on your waist, unfurling his long, elegant fingers. Atsumu is watching you in intense curiosity as you take his pointer and middle digits, pulling them up slowly to your mouth and sucking, all while looking up at him. Instantly, Atsumu groans and you’re positive you can feel his member twitch against your crotch.

You release his fingers with a pop, then lick the length slowly, gaze never leaving his as his focus struggles in anticipation of what you'll do next.

You guide his digits by dragging them from your exposed torso and up to the curves of your breasts to your hardening buds straining your lace bralette, his wet fingers leaving a slight translucent trail of saliva on the expanse of your stomach. Before Atsumu can twist his fingers to pay attention to your nipples, you hold his wrist and move the fingers down your torso, pushing past the elastic waistband of your pants. With your hand over his, you splay his saliva coated fingers against your dampening underwear, stroking your mound before resting the two fingers over your labia, coaxing your slick slit to open. Atsumu’s pupils are dilated, his breathing heavy and his other hand gripping your hips so tightly you can feel bruises starting to form as he tries his best to control himself.

“I’m afraid time is the one thing we both can’t afford Atsumu. But please, have me. Fuck me. Take your fill.”

It’s all the confirmation he needs as he moves your panties aside, circling his fingers on your throbbing clit before sliding them seamlessly inside your tight, soft walls.

It’s not until much, much later, after you’ve had sex in the kitchen, then on his bed, then in the bathroom as you both intended to clean up, then finally cuddling back in his bed before falling asleep that Atsumu remembers the rest of what you said right before he lost all coherent thought.

Why can’t we afford time? Why don’t we have the time? Surely you’re both busy with your careers, but you’re someone he finds himself liking more and more. And now that you’re here, with your head on his chest, one arm wrapped around his bare torso and one leg intertwined with his, he thinks that this feels too good, _too perfect_ , to not keep chasing, and he’ll be damned if he didn’t make time for more moments like tonight.

As his thoughts lull him to sleep, he remembers why time is beyond both of your control.

He's only in Tokyo for volleyball - for the league match they just won and now to train with the Olympic team for an upcoming friendly match in Shanghai. You’re here temporarily too, on a project with a definitive deadline that will not only mark the end of your stay in the country, but signal the end of you seeing him. Possibly forever.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

As if you had sensed his worries, your eyes flutter open. “You okay?” You groggily whisper. Knowing he’s on borrowed time, he scoots down to level his face with yours and kisses you deeply. “Yeah baby, no worries.” He breathily responds as your hands begin to wander from his chiseled abdomen to his navel and down to the tufts of hair trailing to his boxer briefs.

At this point, Atsumu knows he’s completely, utterly, royally fucked.

You’re both on borrowed time, but now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to spend time with you, to be inside you, _to just be with you_ , he knows that this growing hunger for you is insatiable. He thinks then that he finally understands Samu when he rambles about gradually getting hungrier and hungrier when watching others eat. His appetite for volleyball had always been there, like second skin and breathing. But for the longest time he didn't realize that seeing lovers around him display genuine affection towards each other(from his ma and pa, Bokuto and Akaashi, Meian and his wife, Aran and his high school sweetheart), all build bonds that can only truly be forged by sharing and accepting each other's hopes, dreams, and vulnerabilities, is what he was growing hungrier and hungrier for without even noticing. Up until he met you that is. As you pull away from his lips and begin to slowly kiss down his body, following the trail of where your hands have just wandered, he thinks, “fuck it.”

  
Just as he became a setter even though he initially intended to be a spiker, just as he chose to be a professional athlete instead of following a safe path to success in university, just as he contorts and bends over his body in random, sometimes painful ways to make sure his spikers have the best sets, and just as he adjusts and twists routined plays in order to beat opponents, he knows then.

**3\. Miya Atsumu is a risk taker.**   
  


He’d been luckily winning his gambles so far, it’s about time he try his luck in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for so long, and I almost didn’t post it... but the new OST images just fueled me. 
> 
> I’m totally convinced that MSBY Atsumu definitely has a dog. Or two. And they’re the small, yappy ones too lol 
> 
>   
> who knows? They might make an appearance in this series. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
